


the rationale of ration cubes

by tiend



Series: writing wednesday prompts [6]
Category: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types
Genre: Duelling, GAR ration cubes, Gen, Jedi Training, Lightsabers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-03
Updated: 2018-08-03
Packaged: 2019-06-21 02:28:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 516
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15547587
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tiend/pseuds/tiend
Summary: for finish-the-clone-wars prompt 'mastery' - a failed padawan has learnt that the classical forms of lightsaber combat don't always work outside a training salle





	the rationale of ration cubes

Morwen laid on the floor of the training salle, and tried to get her breath back. She’d known the padawan kid was in frequent practice; she hadn’t fought against another lightsaber herself for well over a decade. But getting so thoroughly trounced by someone whose voice hadn’t finished dropping yet was, she thought, unfair.

Adding insult to injury, he fought with two lightsabers. It seemed to be one of those generational things; by now she’d heard of more padawans using the same style. Morwen only had the one, and didn’t want to introduce her usual offhand into their bouts.

“Saints and silver fishes,” she wheezed, and got up. “Let’s try that again, shall we?”

Later, after she’d lost a few more times, the kid put on one of the bowl helmets and started doing deflection drills with a training drone. Naturally, he didn’t miss a single one, a blur of brown robes and green lights. Morwen considered this, and left the salle. She wandered down to the clone trooper mess hall, and commandeered some ration cubes on a tray.

“Sir, you’re, ah, not supposed to take food from the mess.” ship security told her.

“These are not food.” she informed him, wobbling the cubes under his nose. He let her go; sadly, because she was a sort of jedi, not because he knew enough to know she was right.

Morwen returned to the training salle, and hefting a cube, threw it straight at the blindfolded padawan. He blocked it, unthinkingly, vaporising part of the cube and spattering his robes with a large portion of the rest. Hopefully the smell wouldn’t linger.

“What was that for?” said Padawan Commander Njime, ripping off the helmet, angry, startled out of his Jedi calm.

“Testing a theory.” said Morwen, shrugging off her arming jacket to leave her arms and most of her torso exposed. “Look at this. No, closer.”

From her left shoulder trailing down her left arm and side was a tattoo of ferns and flowers, winding around and between scars. Some petals were anchored by a pockmark; unfurling fronds twisted around gouges. The kid reached out with one finger, but caught himself in time.

“Ma’am?” he asked.

“Tear gas canister.” Morwen explained. “It was coming toward me, I blocked it with my lightsaber. It exploded.”

He nodded politely.

“The cube I threw could have been a gas canister.”

“Oh!” The idea clicked.

“I was wearing a mask. If I’d let it go, I would’ve been fine.”

“I’m sorry.”

“So was I.” She grinned at him. “Just - be careful? I don’t want your skill to be the reason you get hurt.

He smiled back, shyly, and grabbing on to the idea with the frowning tenacity she remembered so well, “Maybe you could do it again? See if I can tell the difference in the Force? If it’s you I’m sensing, we could get a droid to do it? Did you ever learn to tell the difference?”

“Oh, Njime.” Morwen sighed, wobbling the cubes in fascinated horror. “Yes, I’ll throw clone rations at you. No, I’m not cleaning up, afterwards.”


End file.
